Dragon Age Kiss Battle!

[owlmoose]

As hinted/threatened, here it is!

Dragon Age Kiss Battle!

Based on the Kiss Battle that has run in the Final Fantasy fandom for the last few years (credit to seventhe for the most recent variation on the rules), this is just a fun way to celebrate February with lots of fun kissing fanworks. Any kind of kiss is welcome -- het, slash, femmeslash; shippy, familial, gen; cheek kisses, mouth kisses, kissing of... other things; serious fic, fluffy fic, silly fic; fanfic, fanart, whatever you come up with; anything goes!

The post will open to prompts and comments at approximately 9AM Pacific Time, Tuesday February 7th (Click here for the time in your timezone). I don't anticipate closing it at any point, so come by any time! Update: posting is now open!!

Update: I have created a master list of fic, here! If new stories are added, I will link them from the master list.

Update, Feb. 5th 2012: This is the 2012 kiss battle, and as of now it is closed to prompts. If you are interested in participating in the 2013 round, check out the info post!

THE RULES:

1. To leave a request: Post a comment with a pairing (or moresome) and, if desired, a prompt. Put the pairing/characters in the subject line and the prompt in the body of the comment.


2. To respond: Reply to the prompting comment. Include characters, rating, and title in the subject line.


3. Multiple responses are both allowed and encouraged!


4. There is no limit to the number of prompts you can post.


5. Please, be kind to others regarding pairing choices, prompts, or anything else. This game is for everyone! :)


6. Anon commenting is on, as is OpenID, if you neither have nor want a Dreamwidth account.


7. Send your friends! :D

If you have questions, please ask them here. Thanks, and happy kissing!!

Update: Thanks to ovo_lexa, there is now a Mass Effect Kiss Battle underway! (Now with bonus correct link! Oops.) Check it out.

Comments

Alistair/f!Aeducan

[owlmoose]

Height difference

Don't Think About Brontos (Alistair/f!Aeducan, PG)

[violacea]

(Featuring my Aeducan, Katrinn. :))

*


Alistair wondered about the logistics long before he ever got the nerve to kiss her. The top of Katrinn's head didn't even come up to his chin – how would the whole thing work? Would he have to bend down to meet her? Given that he was usually wearing armor (which didn't exactly bend all that well), that might be a problem. Would he have to get down on his knees? Would it be rude to ask her to stand on a tree stump?

(Sometimes, he wondered if he should really be spending so much time contemplating kissing. But then Katrinn would smile at him, and he realized it was useless to resist. It was like being told not to think about brontos. Making yourself forget a bronto was impossible, not when you were constantly reminding yourself of it. And maybe he shouldn't be thinking about Katrinn and brontos together, it was kind of a weird image.)

He tried asking her about it once, without really asking her. "So, there must have been plenty of guys who were interested in you," he said, as they walked a few steps behind everyone else. "You know, because you were a princess."

Katrinn raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe, but I rather hoped that any man who was interested was so despite the royal thing, not because of it. Haven't we had that conversation before?"

Oh. Whoops. He walked right into that one. "That's not what I meant!" Alistair explained hastily. "I just meant that you must have met a lot of men because of ... and that sounds bad, too," he realized in mid-sentence. He sighed. "I just ... was wondering if there were any men. Who were special." Who were allowed to kiss you, like I want to.

"Special is relative. Have I been with men? Yes, a few. But only one I'd consider special." She looked away. "My brother took that away from me, too."

Katrinn walked ahead, and Alistair realized he'd miscalculated. Reminding her of another man was as good as telling her to think about brontos. Or not think about them. Whatever, the point was, it wasn't what Alistair had intended at all. And, he thought too late, it wouldn't have even answered his question properly, because all the men in Orzammar were dwarves. They wouldn't have his problem.

In the end, though, it was Katrinn herself who solved the problem – unsurprising, Alistair thought later, as she was the one who solved most of their problems. After their first attempt at a kiss – with her on her tiptoes, him bending as far as his rigid armor would allow – ended in the briefest brushing of lips, Katrinn cursed under her breath. "You know what?" she said. "This is dumb." And Alistair panicked for a brief moment - Maker, no, this isn't dumb, I just want to kiss you, please don't say you don't want me now -

Suddenly, he was falling backwards.

His arms flailed outward, but he couldn't regain his balance, and he ended up flat on his ass – which actually hurt worse than it would have had he been unencumbered by armor. "Ouch," he said, as Katrinn grinned down at him. "That hurt."

He might have complained further, but then Katrinn climbed into his lap, and he forgot everything he was going to say. She straddled his legs, frowning as the metal scraped against her bare skin. "Next time," she said, "you're getting undressed first."

"Next time," he countered, "you could warn me first."

"Now, where's the fun in that?"

And then her mouth was on his – finally, thank you sweet Andraste, because she tasted even better than she had in his fantasies. Her tongue immediately teased at his lips, drawing them open so she could touch the tip to his tongue. And wow. That was something she could do again. And again. When he groaned into her mouth, she wriggled closer. When they separated for a short moment, Alistair looked down, and immediately cursed his armor. Her generous breasts were pressed against his chest, but he was denied the feeling by several layers of metal. "Yes," he mumbled. "Definitely undressing."

One of her hands tugged at the short hair at the back of his neck, causing him to tip his gaze upward again. Katrinn was nose-to-nose with him, her eyes bright and mischievous. "Less talking," she said. "More kissing."

Well. That was certainly a directive he didn't mind following. Over the next bit of time, he learned that she giggled if you used your teeth, and that his vision blurred if she kissed just the right spot on his neck ...

... and he was pretty sure neither one of them thought about brontos even once.

Anders/Hawke

[owlmoose]

Noisy

Panting: (Anders/Hawke, PG)

[jessicajones]

Anders pants like a mabari whenever they kiss. Marian thought it was sexy, that first time in his clinic, as though he wanted her so much he'd forgotten how to breath properly. Now she's realized it's just how he is.

A long passionate kiss before even more passionate lovemaking, and he pants. The whole time. Soft kisses goodbye in the morning, and he's still gasping for air. Even once in the market, he'd seized her unexpectedly and kissed her, pant pant pant, in front of everyone. Isabela has never let her live that one down.

Marian thinks it might be time he learned to breath through his nose.

He's panting again. Anders caught her in a kiss as soon as she stepped through the door, and after a long day in the trenches it sounds even louder than usual. She pushes him gently away.

"Anders can you- what?" He's giving her a funny look.

"I was just thinking how beautiful you are." Anders smiles. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, Marian, in every way. I still can't quite believe you let me into your home."

"I... oh." Marian blushes. She can hardly breath herself, when he's like this. "Thank you."

"Were you going to say something?"

"It's not important." She smiles and he kisses her again. After a moment he's panting again. The sound is a love letter writ by his lungs, and Marian can't remember why it ever bothered her.

Cauthrien/Nathaniel

[serindrana]

(anything goes!)

Re: Cauthrien/Nathaniel

[tanyad]

Cauthrien/Nathaniel, PWP, Post Battle lust

Zevran/(hardened) Leliana

[wallwalker]

Competition

Alistair and Dog

[wallwalker]

Playful

Fetch (Alistair and Dog, G)

[owlmoose]

Wandering away from camp to catch a moment of solitude was still a novelty to Alistair, after an entire life of always having someone watching him, some orders to follow. Not that being a Grey Warden was so different, but as long as they weren't actively in battle, Elissa was fairly relaxed about discipline. So he had far more freedom than he'd ever been used to, and sometimes he went off alone just to take advantage of that.

He heard a rustling behind him, and he sighed, turned around. "I said I was going to-- oh, it's you." His irritation faded only slightly at the sight of Dog, Elissa's mabari hound, bounding out of the bushes and up to him, panting. "Well, I guess I don't mind too much if you watch me take a bath."

Dog pulled up and sat down, looked up at him with expectant eyes.

"I don't have anything for you." Alistair opened up his hands. "See, no snacks. Just soap, and I don't think you want that." Dog turned his head to the side with a whine, and Alistair sighed. "I suppose you won't believe me until you try, will you? Well, here." He held out the ball of soap; Dog sniffed at it, then jerked back, snorting and shaking his head. "See? I told you."

Undeterred, Dog nudged Alistair's other hand, looked down at a pile of sticks the ground, then let out a short sharp bark.

"What-- are you telling me you want me to throw this?" Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I thought Mabari war hounds were beyond that sort of thing." Dog simply looked up at him, and with a shrug, Alistair picked up the stick and tossed it several yards away. Dog barked again, a happy sound, and took off running, leaping into the pile of leaves where the stick had landed. He rooted around for a minute, then turned around and came back, the stick in his mouth, dropping it at Alistair's feet with a proud yip.

Alistair had to laugh. "All right, I guess we are playing this game." He threw the stick again and again, further each time, until Dog was panting, his tongue lolling from his mouth, what passed for a smile spreading on his face. The stick was a splintered, slobbery mess, and Alistair kicked it aside before kneeling down next to the mabari to scratch him behind the ears. "That was fun," he admitted. Dog barked again and began to lick Alistair's face, wet tongue over his cheeks and nose; Alistair winced and tried to back away, but the mabari followed and he toppled over onto his backside, laughing all the way.

"Off, off!" He pushed Dog's face away from his, then scrambled out from beneath. "When I said I was taking a bath, that wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Dog barked again, and Alistair shook his head. "Well, don't tell anyone, and I'll bring you along next time. All right?" Dog's next yelp seemed to signal agreement, and Alistair set off for the stream once again, his hand resting on Dog's shoulders.

Zevran/Wynne

[wallwalker]

Little too much wine.

Nathaniel/Velanna

[fifmeister.livejournal.com]

Fever

The Deep Roads Flu (Nathaniel/Velanna, G)

[violacea]

Velanna starts to look abnormally pale a day into the trip into the Deep Roads. By the time they reach the old thaig - their destination - she’s sweating profusely, and doesn’t offer a protest when Nathaniel puts his arm around her to help her step over some fallen debris. “You really are sick, aren’t you?” he says.

“Thank you for the brilliant insight,” she mutters. She manages to pull herself out of Nathaniel’s grasp, and immediately collapses. “Maybe,” she says as Nathaniel crouches next to her, “we should camp for a little while.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, gathering Velanna into his arms. She’s not very heavy, and doesn’t even make any faces at him when he lifts her. In fact, she lays her head on his shoulder and sighs. She’s asleep before he lays her back down.

When she wakes, he’s built a fire and is setting traps around the perimeter of their camp. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel sees her sit straight up. When he looks over, her eyes are bright and glassy. “Are you okay?”

Velanna shakes her head. “No,” she says, her voice cracking. “No, I don’t think so.”

Nathaniel goes over to kneel next to her. He puts a hand on her forehead. “Andraste’s ass, you’re burning up.”

“Really? Because I’m kind of cold.”

“Not surprising.” He guides her back down onto the pallet and pulls the blanket up to her neck. “We’re pretty secure here. Just rest for a while.”

“But you can’t stay on watch forever,” she protests weakly.

“I’ll manage.”

On a whim, he leans over and kisses her forehead. She chuckles. “I used to do that to Seranni when she got sick.”

“I did it to Delilah,” he admits. “But I’m afraid I don’t have any stuffed animals around, which was my other comfort specialty when I was a child.”

“Kill one of those stupid deepstalkers and stuff it for me.” That’s apparently the funniest thing she’s ever heard, because Velanna starts laughing, and doesn’t stop until she starts coughing violently. “I’m so sick,” she groans when she catches her breath.

“I noticed.” He pats her shoulder. “Sleep. I’ll go try to catch a deepstalker for you.”

This time, she only chuckles weakly as he stands up. He barely hears her speak as he turns away. “Hey, Nathaniel?”

He turns back. “Yes?”

“You know …” Velanna’s voice is dreamy, on the edge of sleep, “I don’t think I’d mind if you did that when I wasn’t sick.”

“Did what?”

“Kiss me. But maybe a little lower.”

Nathaniel stares at her for a minute after her breath evens out into sleep. When he turns away again, he’s grinning. Maybe, he thinks, he will go look for a deepstalker. Just to make her laugh again.

Bethany/Teagan

[(Anonymous)]

comfort

Language or the Kiss (Bethany/Teagan, R-ish)

[violacea]

... call this a companion piece to A Room of Her Own. :)

*

Teagan undresses Bethany slowly. He unfastens the buckles on her supple Warden armor and draws it down to her waist, taking the opportunity to press a line of kisses down her spine. She shivers under his touch. “Teagan,” she murmurs.

“Shhhh. Just let me.” She’s tried to tell him about Kirkwall several times. But every time she starts to put the battle into words, her voice breaks, and Teagan can’t bear to hear it. So, he turns her around and claims her mouth, swallowing any further words with a kiss that feels more desperate on his end than on hers. She took so long to come back to Ferelden, months during which the Wardens couldn’t tell him where she’d gone, months that he was sure she was dead. Months in which he realized exactly how much Bethany meant to him. There aren’t words for it - words would be unfair to her right now, with all the emotions storming in her eyes - but he can tell her with his hands. With his arms. With his lips, which brush reverently against the pulse in her throat. He lingers there, feeling the steady beat, letting it steady him.

Bethany’s arms come around him, and for a few moments, she cradles Teagan against her breast. He feels her lips in his hair, and she whispers something too soft for him to hear. Perhaps it’s nothing meant for his ears. The words he mouths into her neck aren’t for hers.

He pulls away long enough to remove her armor entirely. She has a new scar, a nasty line that runs down her entire right side, ending at her hip. Bethany closes her eyes and turns her head away from him when he touches it. He won’t ask - maybe not ever, not if she doesn’t want to tell him - but he leans over far enough to press his lips to the top of the scar. He trails down her side slowly, letting his tongue feel the texture of the healed flesh, the slight raise where skin has knitted together again. When he reaches her hip, he slides his hands underneath her buttocks and slides her farther up the bed.

She opens up for him instinctively, no longer shy about being spread out for his pleasure. Teagan looks up at her; her eyes are moist, her jaw trembling slightly. When he bends his neck and presses a kiss into the wet heat of her, he thinks he hears a soft sob.

He spends hours making sure her sobs come purely from pleasure, and not from pain. It’s all the comfort he can give her, or himself.

Aveline/Fenris

[(Anonymous)]

firsts

Isabela/Aveline

[cherith]

"it's a bet."

Easy Money (Isabela/Aveline, PG)

[owlmoose]

"Two sovereigns that Fenris moves in within a month." Isabela leaned over the table. "He's got to be sick of that run-down mansion by now, and Hawke's is so much nicer. Not to mention Oriana's cooking."

Aveline shook her head. "If Fenris wanted to leave, he'd have done so by now."

Isabela shrugged. "Fine. If you're that sure, put your money where your mouth is."

"It's a bet, then." Aveline reached out her hand for a shake; Isabela took it, then pulled Aveline to her and dropped a peck on her lips. Aveline raised her eyebrows in response. "And what was that for?"

Isabela grinned and leaned back in her chair. "Haven't you ever heard the expression 'sealed with a kiss'?"

"In that case, we should do it properly." Aveline stood, leaned over Isabela, cupped the back of her hand around Isabela's neck, and brought their lips together in a long, slow kiss. Isabela froze for only a second before she came back with an eager response, parting her lips and sighing, her fingers light on Aveline's cheek. 

When she had finished, Aveline sat back down, and Isabela stood, the lightest flush on her cheeks. "That was a proper kiss, all right." Her eyes sparkled. "Donnic is a lucky man."

Aveline leaned back in her chair. "I know," she said. "So, are we on?"

Isabela walked behind Aveline's chair, trailed her fingers over the wooden back. "You bet we are. I'll see you later."

Aveline watched Isabela's slow sashay out of the room, her smile twitching into a smirk as she caught Varric's eye across the room. Varric stood and, with a shake of his head, slapped a gold coin on the table. "You win this round, Captain," he said. "One sovereign, just like we agreed."

She picked up the coin and flipped it, watching its lazy spin before catching and pocketing it. "Totally worth it to see the look on her face."

Varric snorted. "Don't pretend you didn't love it," he said. "You and Rivaini both."

Her smile grew wider, but she shook her head. "Unlike some people, I don't kiss and tell." She pushed back her chair. "See you later, Varric." 

Bethany/Nathaniel

[violacea]

public

Simple Pleasures (Bethany/Nathaniel, PG)

[owlmoose]

Bethany stumbled out of her tent, blinking sleepily; she had been alone when she woke, reaching out for a lover who wasn't there, and that moment of disorientation still had her out of sorts. A few more blinks to clear her vision brought the camp into focus: a few clouds catching the pink and orange of sunrise, a pot of oatmeal over the fire, half-a-dozen Grey Wardens milling about, and the man she was looking for, Nathaniel, sitting on a fallen tree and staring intently at something.

Someone pressed a mug in her hands as she walked past. She took it and drank without really looking. It was coffee, hot and strong and sweet, just how she liked it, and she thanked the Maker for the few small pleasures of the road. Things like coffee and sunrises and the smell of trees, and Nathaniel. "Good morning," she said as she approached, words softened by a rush of shyness. They had spent over a month dancing around each other, sharing the careful banter and smoldering looks that seemed to pass for flirting in the mind of Nathaniel Howe. Eventually, they had progressed to stolen kisses and spending the occasional night together, but this was the first time they had shared a tent on the road. He'd given her no reason to doubt him, but what if he was rethinking having taken this step?

At her words, Nathaniel looked up and smiled, setting aside the small whetstone he was using to sharpen an arrowhead and taking the offered beverage. "Good morning." He sipped from the mug, then reached for her with his other hand, his long, nimble fingers closing around her wrist to tug her towards him, pulling her closer and down until her only option was to settle on his lap. Which she did, and then he kissed her, pressing his firm, generous mouth to hers, lips parting slightly, his arm coming around her waist to pull her tight to him. She rested one hand on his chest and brought the other up to his cheek, letting it slide back into his thick, unbound hair.

Somewhere far away, a Warden whistled for his hound, and Bethany pulled away, her cheeks and forehead warming at the sudden reminder of where they were. "What are you doing? Everyone will see." She glanced nervously over her shoulder, noted half a dozen of their brothers sitting by the fire, hustling around camp.

Nathaniel chuckled, deep in the back of his throat, and Bethany felt her stomach tighten. She turned back to look at him; he was smiling, and his grey eyes were warm. "Perhaps I don't care who sees." He squeezed her fingers and kissed her again, and his next words were murmured against her lips. "After last night, they'll be gossiping around the fire regardless. We may as well give them something worthwhile to discuss."

Years after, Bethany would still remember that morning as the moment she officially threw caution to the winds; she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him in return, nibbling his lips with a contented sigh. He tasted of coffee and fresh air and himself, and she let herself luxuriate in him, in one private public moment that she thought might lead to many more.

Bethany/Isabela

[violacea]

"I thought you liked that!"

Late at Night (Bethany/Isabela, PG)

[cherith]

When things were crowded or noisy, or just overall too overwhelming at the end of a long day, whoever was left at The Hanged Man crowded into Varric's rooms or Isabela's. Most of the time, it was only that they were each unprepared to go home, as if they just wanted another hour- two, three- in their day. Bethany, liked those nights best. She could curl her feet under her on a chair, or bed, and lay her head on Garrett's shoulder, or Isbela's. Even when she was tired, when she didn't think she could keep her eyes open for another minute, there was something soothing about being there with her friends.

She loved the early morning hours the best, when it was quiet and no one spoke much, and they each just sipped their drinks and enjoyed the company they could. It always felt like something big or amazing was about to happen, and they were all just... waiting.

Sometimes, if they were quiet and not really drunk, or even tipsy, just on that last hour before they all went to their separate homes and their separate beds and their separate lives, Isabela's sleepy voice would whisper a story. That was why Bethany like to be close to her. She was soft and gentle when she wanted to be and Bethany felt the strangest elation of teasing energy gather in her chest at the way Isabela whispered close to her ear. It was easy to wonder if Isabela did it on purpose, but she was so often doing things like that, that Bethany assumed everything Isabela did was on purpose.

"Are you listening, my dove?"

Her arm was on Bethany's back, curling fingertips drawing lazy circles and she turned just so, to catch a glimpse of Bethany's face. When she turned too, Bethany met Isabela's dark eyes with her own amber eyes, though she could barely keep her eyelids open.

"Mmm? I'm sorry, Isabela," she whispered. She hadn't been listening, or she had been trying to, but she was nearly asleep already.

"It's alright, pet. Sleep if you need to." Her head turned and Bethany knew she was looking across the room where her brother was still deeply invested in a game of Diamondback with Fenris and Varric.

She felt the rough slide of fingers around her ear as Isabela pushed her hair away from her face. Bethany slowly edged back on the bed, nodding; maybe she could close her eyes for a little while, Garrett would take her home when it was time. Isabela's hand slid down over her arm as she laid down and Bethany tried to smile though it came over her lips like a slow, lazy thing- a curl of lips just over a press of teeth.

"Thank you, Isabela," she murmured and tucked her head against Isabela's fingers as they traced the curve of her cheek.

Isabela crawled closer, for a moment and laid down next to her. Bethany couldn't smile more, but she let out a pleased hum of sound that vibrated between her lips. She saw Isabela's grin from nearly closed eyelids and her belly fluttered at how close the pirate was. She titled her head forward, letting it roll against the pillow and Bethany found Isabela's lips with her own. It was just a brush of skin, something sleepy and soft and Bethany closed her eyes completely at the feel of it.

"Bethany?" Isabela whispered against her lips, breath warm and rich with the scent of salt and ale.

Her eyes opened, a little frightened and yet eager to do that again. Could she kiss Isabela? "I'm sorry, I thought... " you would like that. Bethany let her words trail off half with sleep and half with worry. She wanted nothing more than to do it again, and Isabela, she teased so often.

"It's fine, poppet." Poppet. That wasn't her name, that was an endearment like all the others, and perhaps that meant it was okay after all. Bethany tried to snuggle in closer to Isabela and there was a heavy arm over her waist a moment later. "Tomorrow you can tell me if you meant it."

"Will you finish the story?" She did mean it, but there was more to say and she was too tired to say it.

"If you want."

Nathaniel/Anders

[violacea]

when in Rome ...

m!Hawke/Anders

[violacea]

beard burn

Aveline/Donnic

[owlmoose]

anything, really

Re: Aveline/Donnic

[tarysande]

Though she's in charge of the scheduling, it is very important to Aveline she not be seen playing favorites. It would be easy, so easy, to arrange things to her liking, to make certain she and Donnic always have their evenings or mornings or afternoons off together. It would be easy, but it wouldn't be fair.

She's surprised, then, when she comes home from one of Hawke's outings--and Maker, sometimes she wishes she didn't spend so many of her days off tromping around at Hawke's side, no matter how good the work they're doing--to find Donnic in the kitchen, up to his elbows in flour. Whatever expression she wears, it's enough to make him raise his hands in surrender, though this only serves to send up a cloud of flour, dusting him from head to toe.

"I switched with Brennan," he says, before she can admonish him. "All above board. You'd have approved if it had been anyone else."

He's not wrong; letting the guards have a small amount of control over these things does raise morale. Sighing, she concedes the point, shrugging out of the straps holding her shield to her back even as she loosens her sword-belt.

"What was it today?" he asks. "Blood mages? Slavers? Assassins from beyond the sea?"

"Six of one, half dozen of the other," Aveline replies wearily. When she turns back to face him, having propped her weapons and armor on the stand near the door, she finds him near, and smiling at her. Her own lips pull into an echoing expression. "You're not actually cooking, are you?"

"No risk too great to see my wife smile."

"If you'll recall, eating the food you cook is the real risk."

Cupping her cheek in his floury hand, he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "It's only cookies. It won't be like the stew. Or the pie."

"Or that Maker-forsaken cake?"

He winces. "To be fair, I did learn my lesson about carefully measuring quantities after that one."

Winding her strong arms around his neck, heedless of the flour his hands leave in their wake as they card through her hair, she kisses him again. Less softly. With more insistence. She may not arrange things to her benefit, but Maker she loves it when things sort themselves out. Kissing Donnic, here, in their warm kitchen, covered in flour, is Aveline's very definition of the word home. "Can the baking wait?"

"For you, always," he whispers. "Though in this case I won't be held responsible for any adverse effect on edibility."

Malcolm/Leandra

[violacea]

stolen moments

m!Cousland/Zevran

[violacea]

proper behavior

Carver/Merrill

[violacea]

rescue me

Anders/Karl

[violacea]

in the dark

Shadows (Anders/Karl, PG?)

[impressioniste]

Neither of them speak. Even without the risk of being overheard, words are not what either of them needs, or wants.

Touch is what they crave -- anxious, fervent touches exchanged in secret, in a silent, darkened stairwell, plunged into shadows at the deepest hours of night when the tower is as quiet as it will ever be.

Anders presses Karl into a corner; He goes without resistance.

It's their lips that meet first, passing warm, wordless breaths between them, saying everything despite saying nothing at all.

Their palms touch, fingers clasping desperately in the shadows, and the darkness no longer matters during those stolen moments in the night, moments when perfect sight is meaningless and the lightest touch of a lover's hand matters more than words ever will.

Zevran/anyone

[wallwalker]

Chastity belt.

(And while I privately like Zev to be the one in the belt, if you want to take it in a different direction, go for it. ;)

Morrigan/Alistair

[wallwalker]

Undying hatred.

I Hate You So Much

[jessicajones]

“Stop- Alistair, what are you doing?” Morrigan grabbed his hands and pushed him away. “I said we had to lay together. I didn’t say you could grope me.”

Alistair shrugged her off. “Well, I have to do something,” he sulked. “This doesn’t just... happen.”

Morrigan sighed. This past year had been a torment. Why Alistair had to be the only male Warden to survive Ostagar, she couldn’t imagine, but she hated him for it. She also hated him for how he teased her, and looked at her, and for his infuriatingly perfect nose.

She scowled at Alistair. “Fine,” she said, and she crossed her arms. “You can touch me. Just don’t expect me to like it.”

They stared at each other. After a moment Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you close your eyes, or something? This is really weird.”

Morrigan sighed again, and rolled her eyes before complying. The anticipation was almost too much. She jumped when he touched her, and she felt goosebumps she couldn’t explain. It must be the hate, she rationalized; she didn’t know if she had ever hated anyone so much. She felt his lips at the bare skin of her shoulder, and her eyes snapped open.

“Did you just kiss me?” she demanded.

“What, no, I just...” He looked like he’d been caught with the whole cookie jar. “I’m just trying to do what you asked. You’re making it very difficult.”

Morrigan gave him a pitying look. “Oh, does Alistair have a little problem?”

“What?” She glanced down at his smalls, and he shifted self consciously. “No, I don’t have any problems. Little or otherwise.”

This did seem to be the case, but Morrigan scoffed. “You have so many problems it would take all evening to enumerate them.” She swallowed. “You’re so pathetic.”

“Says the woman who walks around in a hankerchief!” Alistair scowled. “You know, for someone who claims to hate attention, you act rather desperate for it.”

Morrigan snorted. “Says the man who cries when his pretty hair gets mussed!”

“This again!” Alistair threw up his hands. “Yes, I cried when a man who was very important to me died, but that’s normal, you know, I’m not... wait, you think I have pretty hair?”

“What?” Her skin darkened. “No. Did I say pretty? Because I meant stupid.” She frowned. “‘Tis very stupid hair, because you are stupid, and I don’t—”

Alistair reached for her and she stopped short. Their eyes met. Morrigan thought for a moment that he had very nice eyes, before he dove forward and pressed his lips into hers.

The kiss was warmer than she'd imagined, and she felt hot, and little dizzy. After a moment he broke away, and Morrigan wasn’t sure what made her more angry: that he had kissed her at all, or that he’d stopped, but she hated him even more, if that was possible, for both offenses. She leaned into him.

“I hate you so much,” she gasped, against his mouth.

“The feeling is mutual,” he returned, before he kissed her again.

Anyone/Anyone where Varric & Isabela write friend-fic

[sarasa_cat]

Varric and Isabela write kissy-smutty friend-fic to pass time and read out loud while at the Hanged Man. Purple prose (Isabela)? Over-the-top tall tales (Varric)? ;)

Anora/Cousland

[sarasa_cat]

Childhood memories

Re: Anora/Cousland

[violacea]

Question - do you have a gender preference for Cousland?

Merril/Fenris

[sarasa_cat]

“You’re not sorry”

Boo-boos, G

[rose-in-shadow.livejournal.com]

Not sure if this was what you had in mind, but it's what came into my head. :D

===
Fenris grasped his bleeding leg with a scowl and a hiss of pain. He looked up to reluctantly call for the abomination to heal him, but the blonde mage was leaning over Hawke's body, looking frantic. Fenris bit back his call for aid; Hawke needed him more.

"Let me help, Fenris," Merrill said, coming up, wringing her hands. "I... I have to do something and Anders won't let me near her, Hawke I mean, but I can help!"

Fenris snarled. "I want none of your filthy magic, witch."

"It's not blood magic, I promise," Merrill sighed. "Anders has been teaching me a little of healing magic and it looks to me like you could use it, or do you intend on bleeding out into the dirt?"

"Fine," Fenris bit out. "One hint of you even thinking of using my blood or yours..."

"I won't," Merrill said cheerfully, and knelt beside him.

Fenris watched with narrowed eyes, but the magic she conjured to her palms looked just like what Anders usually did. And despite his misgivings, his leg was feeling better by the second.

"There!" Merrill said, pulling her hands back a moment later. "All better!" And then she did somethig that Fenris would never had seen coming in a million years: she leaned down, and kissed his leg.

Fenris jerked back. "WHAT are you doing?"

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Merrill blushed a violent shade of red.

"You're not sorry!" Fenris sputtered. "What was that for?"

"It's just..." Merrill fiddled with her braids, still blushing. "It's just something I remember my mother doing when I was a child, alright? Kiss the owwie to make it better. Haven't you ever heard of it?"

"If I had a mother, I don't remember it," Fenris growled, flexing his leg experimentally. It felt good; as if he'd never been wounded.

"Well, I am sorry," Merrill said, still flustered. "I won't do it again."

"No, you won't," Fenris agreed, and stood to his feet. As he was walking away, he paused and turned back to the elf girl still kneeling in the dirt. "By the way, thank you."

Zevran/Sten

[sarasa_cat]

On a dare